


On Call

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Greg Lestrade, Gen, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21610114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: When Lestrade gets Sherlock's texts during the biggest bank heist of his career, it turns out his worries aren't unfounded.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 83





	On Call

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

_Help_

_Baker Street_

_Now_

_SH_

Lestrade stops in his tracks. He he's in the middle of the most important bank robbery bust of his life, but now it’s the last thing on his mind. 

_Help me_

_Please_

“I’ve gotta go.” 

She turns, her expression mystified. “We’ve been waiting over a year for this. You can’t just walk away now, not when it’s all just gettin' finished.” 

She says something about someone else getting all the credit, but he’s barely listening to her. “I-…. I’ve gotta go.” He glances towards the door. “I’ve gotta go.” 

He heads for the flat that the young detective has come to call home. To be honest, he was never really sure the boy would find one, but then he met John. He suddenly had someone he could depend on, someone who would trust him even though his actions seemed insane. 

And yes, Sherlock still aggravates him to no end, but he's proud of him. 

He drops _everything_ and he runs for his car to drive to Sherlock’s flat. He calls backup even as he rushes to get going. The car cannot physically move fast enough for the hurry in his heart. Every second could cost him if Sherlock is hurt. 

When Lestrade reaches the flat, he flies from his vehicle and bustles through the front door. Mrs. Hudson raises a protest, but Greg ignores her. He pushes the door open, instinctively pulling out his gun. 

“Sherlock!” 

He doesn’t get an answer, so he does a full turn and moves towards the kitchen. Lestrade sees a pair of legs behind the table and he moves to crouch next to Sherlock. There’s a body on top him, and Sherlock is motionless underneath it. Mrs. Hudson pokes her head in the door and gasps. 

“Sherlock!” He pulls the body off, taking a pulse to ensure the attacker is, at the very least, unconscious. “Holmes, talk to me!” He doesn’t make any noise and Greg starts to panic a little bit. “Mrs. Hudson, phone an ambulance!” 

Sherlock opens his eyes, groaning. “L-Lestrade?” 

Lestrade kneels by his side, his hands searching Sherlock for wounds. Well... aside from the blatantly obvious knife in his stomach. “I can see you’re having a rather peachy day.” 

Sherlock lifts his head, groaning as he tries to get a good look at the knife. “Mmm. That’s less than promising.” 

“Hold still.” Greg pushes his hands against the wound, leaving in the knife to keep the majority of the blood flow blocked. 

“It... certainly took you long enough to get here.” 

Lestrade chuckles. “Well, I was -” 

“In the middle of capturing a few amateur bank robbers who managed to escape you due to your poor excuses for detective skills. I am well aware of your efforts.” 

Greg rolls his eyes. “Oh, so you just didn’t feel the need to offer up your expertise within the last year?” He looks to the door when he hears footsteps, ordering his backup to take the unknown assailant in for questioning. 

“Not for nothing, b-” He grunts. “... but I was a smidge preoccupied.” 

“Was playing dead too much of a distraction for you?” 

“If by distraction you mean a necessity?” Sherlock actually laughs, but it eventually turns pained. “I know you don’t... don’t understand, but I had to disappear. H-had to let people think I was a fraud.” 

Lestrade shakes his head. “Just shut up about it, Holmes. Give me an estimate.” 

“Uh, well.... Since Mrs. Hudson phoned the ambulance about a minute ago, and that’s assuming sh-she did so immediately after you told her to, we’ve got about seven minutes to go until it arrives.” 

“I meant on you, Holmes.” 

“Oh, this wound?” He pauses at the look Lestrade shoots him, finding it rather scathing. “I’d say I’ve got a good fifteen minutes before things become truly problematic.” 

Greg sighs. “And you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” 

“Why would I do that?” 

The inspector rolls his eyes. “Nevermind. I’m starting to think you find this situation funny, Holmes.” 

“Oh, what's not to find funny? Assassin tried to kill me, and I hit him on the head with Mrs. Hudson’s latest attempt at a bread loaf.” 

Lestrade huffs, picking up the huge loaf and tapping it against the side of the table. Solid as a rock. “So.... If you had killed him, the murder weapon would be bread?” 

“Not really murder. Self-defense.” 

“And wouldn’t that have been quite the tale for the news? They'd call it murder more for your sake than anything else.” He laughs to himself. “Sherlock Holmes: A Murder Well-Done. I know a few people who wouldn’t be surprised.” 

“Ah, creative. Didn’t....” He groans, pulling in a deep breath. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” 

Lestrade turns a little as he hears the wail of sirens. “I think you underestimate me.” 

“I sincerely doubt that.” 

“You know what, Holmes? You are lucky to be alive.” 

He coughs. “Oh, not really. I made sure my would-be killer didn’t hit anything vital.” 

Greg flicks his shoulder, laughing to himself as the blaring siren gets louder. He can almost guarantee Mrs. Hudson is patiently waiting to open her front door for the paramedics. Sherlock keeps muttering on even after Lestrade starts to prep him for moving. 

“You know, it's a good thing you texted.” 

He doesn’t respond for a little bit, glancing up at him. “Lestrade?” 

“What, what is it?” 

“Thank you for coming.” 

Lestrade reaches out a hand and squeezes his forearm. It’s supposed to be reassuring, even if he’s not sure Sherlock understands it. “Of course, Sherlock.” 

The ambulance arrives and Lestrade is sure to hitch a ride with them. He gives John a call, knowing he’d want to be called even if it isn’t technically an emergency anymore. Sherlock has already assured him repeatedly that he’ll be fine. 

It takes a while for Sherlock to get settled into a hospital room, but when he does, John is the first to see him. Lestrade is the second. He puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, smiling warmly. 

Sherlock appreciates it, though he doubts Lestrade knows how much. 

“I’m glad you’re all right.” 

The younger man nods. 

“You know.... Most stomach wounds aren’t something people are able to walk away from. I’d say you were very, very lucky when you got that.” 

“Ugh. I told you. I made sure it didn’t hit anything.” 

“So you said, and even though I know you won’t listen to me since you never do, I’m going to tell you to be more careful in the future.” 

“Sentiments, Lestrade?” 

He chuckles. “Yes, believe it or not.” 

“I believe it. You normal people and your normal little brains are so... attached.” 

Lestrade sees the perfect moment, and he decides to embrace it. “Attachment isn’t so bad, Mr. Holmes. I was in the biggest break of my entire career, and I decided to come to you. My ‘little brain’ and its attachment saved your life.” 

“Oh, don’t be so smug.” 

Lestrade makes for the door, turning with a bit of a smile. Despite how dense Sherlock can be, he would guess the young man knows they care a great much about him. “Would _I_ ever be smug in the face of proving you wrong?” 

The door closes behind him and Sherlock smirks. “Yes, yes you would.” 


End file.
